


All's Fair....

by junko



Series: The Hardest Lesson [2]
Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M, M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-20
Updated: 2012-05-20
Packaged: 2017-11-05 16:52:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/408750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junko/pseuds/junko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Byakuya returns with breakfast to find his new master in the mood to play a game of high stakes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All's Fair....

When Byakuya returned with the breakfast tray Hisana had given him, he half-hoped to find Fuschida passed out. It was disappointing to see him awake. At least he’d moved out of the stuffy, messy room onto the porch. Byakuya found Fuschida sitting with his back against the wall and his feet sprawled out. Byakuya set the tray down beside him.

The shade of the porch gave relief from the noon sun. A family explored the courtyard garden. Though too small to have a water feature, the garden’s designer had simulated a dry river bed with polished stones. A small wooden bridge arched over it, and a woman rested there, underneath a pink, floral parasol, admiring the topiary. Byakuya found himself jealously watching the older children as they played a game of tag among the artfully-placed boulders and trimmed bushes, as their father bounced a younger sibling on his knee. Their laughter echoed though the courtyard.

Fuschida’s voice was like a rude awakening from a pleasant dream. “You actually came back? I’m kind of surprised… and a little disappointed. I was looking forward to a game of hide-and-seek.”

Byakuya said nothing. Instead he picked up the chopsticks and busied himself putting food on the plate in front of Fuschida. After he’d reached across the table with a collection of pickled vegetables, Fuschida caught his hand. He brought Byakuya’s knuckles to his lips. He kissed the skin of the back of Byakuya’s hand softly.

Raising his eyes to glare at Fuschida, he said, “I already told you, I’m not interested in such advances.”

With a hard flick, Byakuya snapped the chopsticks against Fuschida’s cheek. The polished wood made a satisfying smack.

“Why you little turd,” Fuschida said, releasing Byakuya’s hand to gingerly touch the welt on his cheek. His eyes narrowed as his hand closed into a fist. He swung wildly.

Byakuya used the palm of his hand to guide the energy of Fuschida’s blow to the side, as he shifted lightly to dodge. With the chopsticks, he snapped the pressure point at Fuschida’s wrist as the other hand rose to strike.

With the attack easily deflected, Byakuya settled back on his knees as if nothing had happened. However, he kept the chopsticks in his fingers as he rested his hands in his lap—just in case.

Fuschida’s eyes were wide with surprise and he cradled his injured wristed. “So… you’re feeling frisky, huh?

Byakuya had no response, other than to try to heighten his senses and attune them to Fuschida’s reistsu. If he could have advance warning of a kidō attack, perhaps there was a way to defend against it. The binding spell was simple enough that it was possible that even a lout like Fuschida needed neither the gesture nor the chant. However, no one could perform kidō without concentration, which was why so few used it successfully in combat. If he kept Fuschida off-balance or otherwise distracted, Byakuya might be able to avoid getting pinned, helpless again.

“Maybe we should play a different game,” Fuschida suggested. “How do you feel about tag?”

Byakuya glanced up at the mention of the word ‘tag.’ He’d only spent much of his adolescence chasing the Flash Master around the Seireitei. But, there had to be a catch. Fuschida had already had a taste of Byakuya’s speed, and, surely, if his grandfather would betray the depth of his ability with kidō, he’d have warned this ruffian not to try shunpo.

“No?” Fuschida said, “How about ‘keep away’? And just to make it extra fun, let’s wager, shall we? How about if you can successfully keep me from landing a punch for twenty minutes, you can have something you want. But, if I can touch you, I get a kiss. A proper one—with feeling.”

“It is impossible for me to kiss you like that,” Byakuya said honestly. “But I could promise not to throw up in your mouth.”

Fuschida snorted a little laugh. “You’re really sassy, you know that?”

Byakuya nodded slightly in acknowledgment, and said, “If I win, I want twenty-four hours without harassment. You keep your hands off me for a day.”

“Hmmm, that doesn’t seem quite even. I’ll give you that, if I can get a kiss and a bit more. Maybe a little fondling, eh?”

If nothing else, his counteroffer was a strong motivator to win. “Twenty minutes,” Byakuya said. “No kidō.”

“No kidō, no shunpo. Just regular combat,” Fuschida said with a smile that unnerved Byakuya a little.

Even so, he said, “Agreed.”

 

#

 

Even though they’d established terms, Byakuya knew better than to assume Fuschida would play fair. He was not at all surprised that Fuschida’s first move involved tossing the bowl of lukewarm miso in the direction of Byakuya’s face. He managed to dodge much of it, but his vision blurred as salty soup splashed into one eye.

Continuing the motion of his duck, Byakuya drove the tip of the chopsticks toward the soft flesh under Fuschida’s still upraised arm. He aimed for the pressure point in the armpit.

However, Fuschida used his other hand to block just enough that the chopsticks glanced off skin, tearing through the rough fabric of his kimono, instead.

Knowing this move had put him precariously close to his opponent, Byakuya let go of the chopsticks and quickly reversed his thrust. He swung out a leg in a somewhat graceless spin kick. The table-tray overturned with a crash. The teapot rolled off the porch, and landed somewhere in the bushes. Byakuya used the energy of the kick to pop up from kneeling to a standing position.

Conversely, having sat so casually, Fuschida had to scramble awkwardly in order to get to his feet. Byakuya kicked Fuschida in the chest before he’d quite gotten upright. The force of the blow sent Fuschida flying backwards. He tumbled over the railing to crash into the bushes below.

In the courtyard, the woman screamed. Byakuya shouted to the man, who was quickly gathering his children, “Please, sir, take your family inside!”

“You should worry about yourself, boy,” Fuschida said, pulling himself upright. With an angry growl, he lunged at Byakuya.

“I have no worries,” Byakuya said, as he sidestepped Fuschida’s reckless charge. A shove on top of his momentum sent Fuschida tumbling over the opposite railing. “You have yet to touch me.”

 

#

 

Well over twenty minutes later, sweating and swearing in the center of the courtyard, Fuschida raised his hands in defeat. “You win.”

Byakuya didn’t relax his stance, however, wary of a trick. Too late, he sensed the spike of reistsu. The binding spell twisted around him, yanking Byakuya’s arms behind his back and forcing him to his knees. He howled in frustration, “No!”

In front of the horrified faces of the other lodgers at the inn who had gathered at their windows and doors to witness all the commotion, Fuschida grabbed Byakuya by the back of the neck and dragged him back toward their room. He hauled him roughly up the porch stairs, and, with a giant shove, heaved him inside.

When Byakuya landed painfully on the floor, he hissed, “Is your word _so_ meaningless?”

“I promised not to molest you,” Fuschida said without a hint of shame. “We didn’t discuss punishment. You embarrassed me out there. Now you suffer the consequences.”

Byakuya raged against the confinement, pushing and struggling against the spell. The bonds restricted, cutting into skin painfully. He had to clench his jaw to keep from crying out.

Fuschida seemed to enjoy watching him suffer for a moment. Then he removed his sheathed zanpaktō from his obi. Fuschida stepped over Byakuya, so that one foot was on either side of his torso. He knelt down, facing backwards, on top of him, adding his weight to the pressure on Byakuya’s arms. Fuschida tore the fabric of the simple kimono exposing Byakuya’s naked ass.

Using the flat of the blade, he spanked Byakuya.

It was too much. With each humiliating and painful blow, Byakuya retreated further and further into that deep place inside. From somewhere very distant, Byakuya heard more than felt the crack of leather against flesh.

Fuschida quickly lost interest when he realized Byakuya had stopped squirming and protesting. He stood, tucking his sword back against his hip. He walked around Byakuya, as if inspecting his handiwork.

Toes lifted Byakuya’s face. “No tears,” he noted, disappointed. “Fine,” he huffed angrily, pushing Byakuya aside with his foot. “You can stay like this until I get back. I’m going to the market to sell your silk.”

Byakuya thought he should probably feel outrage or despair or grief, but nothing penetrated the steely citadel he’d tumbled into. He just lay there, observing the world from a faraway place.

Fuschida grumbled to himself as he rummaged through all the things that littered the floor of the room.

Closing his eyes, Byakuya inspected the spell that bound him. Though it was the same as before, it seemed smaller and weaker, somehow. The bracelet, too, appeared to be struggling to absorb all the energy that flowed from this new deep source of reistsu he’d tapped. He suspected it would take a simple burst to overwhelm both the manacle and the spell.

After gathering what he needed, Fuschida pulled open the rice paper door. He seemed surprised by something. “What the hell are all you people doing standing here? The show is over,” he snarled.

From what Byakuya could tell from where he lay, unmoving, Fuschida muscled past whoever blocked him. The door slid back hard to bang against its frame. Byakuya could hear the sounds of an argument in the hallway. Some brave soul wanted assurance that there wasn’t a corpse in the room beyond. Fuschida shouted them all down; Byakuya could hear his voice fading as he moved away.

As soon as it seemed Fuschida had gone a good distance, Byakuya quickly snapped the spell. He was able to cover himself just as the door creaked open. Curious, nervous faces peered around the frame. Holding the kimono closed behind his back, Byakuya stood. He surprised himself by being able to do so without shaking legs.

The pain was still too far away to touch him.

Yet, despite obvious concern, no one seemed willing to enter the room.

Strangely, it was a black cat that slunk across the threshold. It twined through feet, and arched its back, knocking lightly against the door frame as if marking territory.

“If you want anyone to enter, you’ll have to turn down that spiritual pressure,” the cat said, sitting primly on its haunches.

Byakuya blinked. Had the cat just spoken?

“There’s a little girl out there who’s worried sick about you.” The cat licked its paw, using a pink tongue to worry between toes. Its deep, masculine voice rumbled like a purr. “You should really consider dropping it down a notch or two, so she can come in and see that you’re okay.”

“It’s the only thing holding me up,” he admitted, feeling a bit foolish talking to a cat.

“Let go. I’ll catch you.”

“But--?”

“He’s going figure out it’s you in a minute. You don’t want that asshole coming back here, do you?”

The cat could only mean Fuschida, and Byakuya certainly did not. Yet, coming up from the deep well of power felt too vulnerable, so, he decided, instead, to drop all the way into the darkness. At some point the bottom fell out, and his eyes rolled up into his head. His vision started to fade, and his legs buckled. Just before he passed out, he felt strong arms catch him.

A familiar feminine voice whispered an infuriating phrase he’d heard a thousand times before, “Gotcha.”


End file.
